


The Phrases That Keep It All Going

by sailormade



Series: Phrases. [1]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fatherhood, Friends With Benefits, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Season/Series 01, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, jason is grumpy, papa seal aka adam seaver to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 01:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailormade/pseuds/sailormade
Summary: “Clay isn’t his father,” Adam said, and he meant it; He could still remember Clay, at three years old, giving him two big handfuls of dandelions as a thank you for taking him to the park. “He might be a smartass with an ego bigger than the entirety of the Middle East, but he’s a good man, Jason. I’m not givin’ up on him, obnoxious as he might be. It's about time that someone didn't.”—After finding himself in the Bottom Five, Clay copes with the anger and disappointment the only way that he knows how. Meanwhile, Jason Hayes and Adam Seaver have a conversation.





	The Phrases That Keep It All Going

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RayByAnotherName](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayByAnotherName/gifts), [sneakypeaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneakypeaches/gifts).

> 》for ray, for being an iconic badass & for not only creating an equally iconic & badass discord channel, but for screeching with me about clay & brian (& brian's inability to date anyone without marrying them six months later).  
》& for sneakypeaches. you left a very sweet review of my previous clay/brian fic on fanfiction.net, & when you said "it would be awesome to see this idea continued in a series," it inspired me to do a little oneshot mini-series. 
> 
> Additionally: I know, I know, I promised an update for Light the Way/Let Me Go—it's coming, I really do promise! The word-count for the third chapter is currently at about 1,850, so it'll be done very soon. Stories with multiple chapters are much harder to write than oneshots like this (I literally wrote 60% of this on my phone while in line at Arby's), & I don't want to rush through them just for the sake of updating. You guys deserve only the best. 💙 So, hang tight, it'll be updated ASAP!
> 
> please see the notes at the bottom for trigger warnings.  
  


> 
>     **YOU'RE GOING TO DIE IN YOUR BEST FRIEND'S ARMS. & YOU PLAY ALONG BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY, BECAUSE IT'S WRITTEN DOWN, YOU'VE MEMORIZED IT, IT'S ALL YOU KNOW. I SAY THE PHRASES THAT KEEP IT ALL GOING, ****& EVERYBODY PLAYS ALONG. IMAGINE: SOMEONE'S PULLING A GUN, AND YOU'RE JUMPING INTO THE MIDDLE OF IT. YOU DIDN'T THINK YOU'D FEEL THIS WAY.**
>       

“You wanna’ talk about it?” Brian asked, ghosting his knuckles down the slope of Clay’s back. 

Clay lifted his head from where it was pillowed on Brian’s chest to look at him; His face was a dim but familiar sight in the darkness. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m bottom fucking five, end of story.”

He laid his head back down and closed his eyes. He was too angry for conversation, and too hurt. Being a Bottom Fiver was a hard, bitter pill to swallow, and Clay was starting to choke on it; He couldn’t understand why the men that he’d been operating with for well over two years now thought so little of him. He worked damn hard, harder than anybody else. He’d saved some their lives countless times. He should be in the _top_ five, not the goddamn bottom. 

“You’re still here,” Brian said. “That’s all that matters, man. Evans is gone. That could've been you, but it wasn't. Be grateful for that, at least.” 

Clay huffed. He disagreed, but wasn't in the mood to argue his point. How was he going to face the other SEALs tomorrow? How was he supposed to look them in the face, and go back to training and operating next to them, when he knew how they really felt? 

No Tier One Squadron was going to want Clay if no one on Green Team did either. 

He tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Brian’s heart. It was a comforting sound, like distant thunder and the slow roll of ocean waves, and it helped soothe Clay’s frayed nerves. He wished that he could freeze time, for just a few hours, so that he could stay right where he was. 

In the quiet of Brian’s bedroom there was no Green Team, no cut-throat selection process. He wasn't in the Bottom Five. His last name wasn't Spenser. It was just him and Brian lying in bed, wrapped in warm, clean bed covers, lazy and sated and pleasantly sore. 

_Safe, _that's what it was. Here, with Brian, Clay felt safer than he’d ever felt before. 

He nipped at the blade of Brian’s jaw. It was rough with stubble under Clay’s mouth.

“Think you have another round in you?" He muttered against Brian's jaw.

Brian chuckled and carded his free hand through Clay's hair. “You do realize we have to run the O - Course in the morning, right?” 

“You do realize that’s almost twelve hours away, right?" Clay asked. "I’m sure losing one more hour of sleep won’t make any difference. We’re the best of those guys, anyway.” 

Brian rolled his eyes. “You’re the worst, man. You know that, right?” 

Clay grinned and kissed Brian’s mouth, easy and slow. It melted quickly into something deeper; Clay made an impatient noise and maneuvered himself to straddle Brian’s hips. 

“I’m your favorite, though,” Clay said, bracing his hands on Brian's chest. “Now grab the lube, sailor. I wanna’ ride you.” 

* * *

It was late, pushing ten thirty at night, and Jason needed to go home. Adam would’ve said as much if things weren’t so tense between him and Alana; For Jason, going home wasn’t quite the cause for celebration that it used to be. A divorce was on the horizon, no doubt. 

Adam, taking pity on Jason, sat on the front porch steps with him while he avoided his estranged wife. They drank warm beer under the yellow glow of the porch light and ran commentary on the passing cars. 

“Hey, look,” Jason said, pointing. “There went another one of those ugly powder blue ones. What is it with all these ugly blue cars? I gotta' tell you, they all look like something Emma would drive.”

Adam didn't particularly care, but the idle chitchat about cars kept Jason smiling, so he nodded and agreed. He decided that he was going to give Jason until eleven o’clock, and then he was telling him to go the hell home, back to his family. Hiding from the conversations that Alana wanted so desperately to have solved nothing. 

“So,” Adam started, hoping to change the conversation from car talk; He could only take so much boredom. “Spenser got Bottom Fived.”

Jason took a drink of his beer. “Good. Damn kid needs to get knocked down a few pegs. And, you know, maybe learn how to follow a simple order." 

Something tugged sharply in Adam’s gut. He tried not to read too much into it. 

“No, he doesn’t,” He said vehemently. “He’s been knocked down more than enough. What he needs is to learn some humility, and how to operate as part of a team, and yes, how to follow orders better.”

Jason turned to look at Adam, equal parts bewildered and irritated. He scoffed and shook his head.

“You gettin’ soft for Ash Spenser’s kid?” Jason asked. 

Adam shrugged. He liked to think that he wasn't, and that he was staying objective, but Hell, maybe he was getting soft for Clay. 

“He’d be a damn good SEAL if he’d just pull his head out of his ass,” Adam said. “Clay is doing everything in his power to prove that he isn’t his father, and eventually it’s going to get him killed. I hate to admit it, but it scares me a little, Jason. You know, believe it or not, I used to change that kid's diapers. Took him to the park all the time, too. He was obsessed with those orange salamanders with the black spots.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, tired. “I only got a couple years with him before Ash and I quit speaking and Ash decided to throw him away like an old rucksack, but it was a good couple of years, Jay. They're hard to forget.” 

Adam tried his hardest not to think about Clay before Green Team. He remembered his time with Ash and Clay vividly. Clay was a damn cute kid. He'd had curly blonde hair that was always too long, and his mother's big pacific blue eyes_._ Clay had been as curious as he was fearless, and as affectionate and sweet as he was funny, and Ash—Well, Ash couldn’t have given less of shit about him, and Mary was so depressed that she couldn’t get out of bed to tend to her son. 

The Spenser family dynamic almost broke Adam’s heart as much as seeing Clay Spenser for the first time in twenty-something years at Green Team orientation did. Sweet, curious, fearless little Clay had grown up and became a Navy SEAL. _He'd signed his own death certificate. _And for what? To prove Ash wrong? 

Jason idly picked at the peeling label on his beer bottle. "I had no idea that you knew little Spenser before Green Team. And what do you mean, Ash threw him away?” 

“Clay was only four or five when Ash got sick of being a parent. He shipped him off to his grandparents and that was the end of that.” 

“What about his mom?” 

“Postpartum Depression with psychotic features. She heard voices in her head. Probably woulda’ killed Clay if he’d stayed with her any longer than he did. She shot herself in the head a while back, I heard.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Jason said. “I guess that explains a few things." 

“Clay isn’t his father,” Adam said, and he meant it; He could still remember Clay, at three years old, giving him two big handfuls of dandelions as a thank you for taking him to the park. “He might be a smartass with an ego bigger than the entirety of the Middle East, but he’s a good man, Jason. I’m not givin’ up on him, obnoxious as he might be. It's about time that someone didn't.” 

Jason didn’t say anything else, and neither did Adam. They continued to sit in the glow of the porch light and drink their warm beer. It was almost gone now, and the traffic had slowed. The time on Adam’s watch told him that it was five past eleven, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Jason to leave just yet, so he didn’t. 

* * *

Clay’s thighs were getting sore. He’d lost track of how long he’d been riding Brian, but God, he didn’t ever want to stop; Bolts of heat shot up his spine like lightning on every other roll of his hips, and oh, Jesus, he was so close, riding the razor’s edge—

But he was starting to get a cramp in his left goddamn thigh. And Brian wouldn’t let him touch himself. 

Clay leaned forward and dropped his head to Brian’s collarbone. His movements ebbed to a stop. 

_"Bri,"_ He whined. “Shit—Put me on my back. M’starting to get a fucking cramp in my thigh.”

Brian laughed. Clay didn’t think that he’d ever quit loving the sound. 

“You big baby,” Brian said. His hands left a trail of horripilation as they slid up Clay’s back. “Sounds like you need to add a few more goblet squats to your workout routine. Or jump squats, since they've got that plyometric component.”

"Oh my God, are you seriou—" 

Brian deliberately shifted his hips. Clay would never admit to the high pitched sound that was knocked from his mouth.

Before he could retort anything witty, Brian was pushing himself up into a sitting position and flipping the two of them over. Clay’s stomach fluttered excitedly. 

“That better?” Brian asked. 

Though his tone was playful, teasing, Clay knew that he was expecting a serious answer. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Clay reassured him—and God, he was. He doubted that he'd ever been better. The sheets were warm and soft against his sweat-slick back, and the feel of Brian’s weight pressing him into the mattress toed the line of divine. “C’mon. Fuck me.”

Brian obliged. 

“Your wish is my command,” Brian said, and Clay flicked the side of his head. 

“You’re so stupid.” Clay said over Brian's _"Ow, Clay! Jesus!,"_ but he was smiling. 

He wrapped his arms around Brian’s neck and closed his eyes, let himself be lost in the sensation; He wasn’t going to last much longer, not with the greedy, insistent, pace that Brian had set, and not with the way his cock was bumping and rubbing against Brian’s stomach with every thrust inward. Warmth unfurled low in his gut. His blood was on fire. His toes curled into the back of Brian’s calves. 

Thoughts of Green Team, and of being in the Bottom Five, and of what a massive fucking failure he was, were far away. 

“God, Brian, shit, I’m gonna—“

“I know,” Brian said, kissing the side of his mouth. “I know, baby. Go ahead. Come for me. Show me how good you feel.”

Clay did. 

* * *

Jason left around eleven thirty. Adam clapped him on the shoulder and wished him luck with Alana before heading back inside. Though it was late, the house was abuzz with noise and light; It was a Friday night, and Hannah had two of her friends from school sleeping over. The three of them were squished together on the couch, eating pizza under the comforter from Hannah's bed and watching what sounded like a horror movie. 

“Don't say up too late, sweet pea,” Adam said as he passed by them. “Hi Crystal, Hi Annie.” 

Hannah’s friends, Crystal and Annie, said hello and waved halfheartedly, clearly enraptured by whatever was happening on the screen. 

“We won’t, dad!” Hannah said. 

It was a lie, of course, but Adam didn’t mind all that much. It wasn't a school night, and he liked Crystal and Annie. They were good students who didn't smoke, drink, or speed fifteen miles over the limit when they drove his baby girl around. They were a good influence on Hannah, and if they wanted to gorge themselves on pizza and watch spooky movies under the safety of Adam's roof, well, Adam wasn't going to stop them. 

He smiled, bid the three goodnight, and continued to his bedroom. 

Adam considered his daughter, Hannah, to be his greatest accomplishment. She was the brightest light in his life. The vast majority of his favorite memories were of him and Hannah and Victoria together. He couldn’t begin to fathom what Ash did to Clay, and he tried to push it out of his mind as he kicked off his pants and crawled into bed next to his wife. She was already fast asleep, curled up on her side and snoring cutely. Adam brushed a lock of strawberry blond hair out of the way, kissed her forehead, and settled down to sleep.

He dreamt of him, four year old Hannah, and four year old Clay playing at the park. There were smashed dandelions in his blood-stained hands. 

* * *

Morning came quicker than Clay would’ve liked, with the first light of morning came reality; He was still in the Bottom Five. 

Clay woke to an empty bed and the smell of bacon and eggs coming from the kitchen. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Brian must’ve slipped out of bed to make breakfast. He was a morning person like that, the weirdo. Not that Clay was complaining. He’d never turn down free food, especially when it was Brian cooking it. He had a knack. 

Clay yawned and stretched. Surprisingly, he’d slept better last night than he had in the last two weeks. He wasn’t sure why; Maybe it was the fantastic sex, or maybe it was the fact the band-aid had been ripped off and he know knew exactly where he stood among the other SEALs. Either way, Clay was grateful for the rest. 

He showered and dressed quickly, ready to get the day done and over with, and made his way into Brian’s little kitchen. A plate of bacon, eggs, and toast was already waiting for him on the counter. Clay tried not to let Brian see him smile. 

“I made you a plate when I heard the shower turn on,” Brian said, setting the greasy skillet in the sink. “Figured we’d need it. Something tells me Master Chief Seaver isn't going to be in a very forgiving mood today.” 

“You’re my favorite person.” Clay said around a mouthful of bacon. "Oh my God, what do you season this bacon with?" 

Brian cringed. “Gross, Clay. For the love of God, chew with your mouth closed. You're not fourteen.”

“You love my mouth.” 

“Not when it’s full of food, I don't. Or spewing bullshit.” 

Clay stabbed at his scrambled eggs with his fork while Brian grabbed a piece of bacon from his own plate. He was surprised that Brian was touching bacon today. Nobody was pickier about food then Brian. _He didn’t even eat white bread._ His moods regarding certain foods seemed to change quicker than the weather. 

“So,” Brian said. “You gonna’ man up and call Stella today? She’s waiting, you know.” 

Clay’s chewing slowed. He swallowed thickly.

“I’ll get to it, man,” He said. “Chill.” 

Brian lifted a brow but said nothing. He continued to eat his bacon. 

After being Bottom Fived, Clay had forgotten about Stella. His entire worldview narrowed down to his place in Green Team, and then he’d been so pissed that he’d gone home with Brian to blow off steam. 

He wasn’t sure what was going on between him and Brian, other than good food and even better sex, or where they might be headed. They hadn’t been sleeping together all that long, and they sure as hell never talked about it. It was just something they did. Though, all the classic _ friends with benefits _ rules applied, it seemed. And that meant that they could date whoever they wanted. 

Clay didn’t like to think about anyone else touching Brian. The thought made him stab his eggs a little too aggressively.

But then again, Stella. He really, really liked Stella. Smart, sexy, quick-witted Stella with her hazel eyes and cute button nose. 

Goddammit. It wasn’t even ten in the morning yet and Clay could already feel the migraine starting. He didn’t want to think about his tangled feelings, or about being in the Bottom Five, or about just how much Master Chief Jason Hayes hated him. More than anything, Clay wanted to crawl back into Brian’s bed and sleep for the rest of the day. Or week. 

“I’m gonna’ go grab my phone off the charger,” Brian said, pulling Clay from his thoughts; He sat his plate in the sink. “And we can go.” 

Clay watched him jog into the other room and wished that he weren’t too chickenshit to ask Brian what was going on between them. 

The thought of not calling Stella back didn’t disappoint Clay the way it should’ve, he was self-aware enough to know that much. Clay refused to contemplate why. 

**Author's Note:**

> **trigger warnings.**  
》there is a brief, single mention of the suicide of an off-screen, minor character.  
》the use of sex as a form of self-injury/coping. 
> 
> as for the rating: i'm keeping this story at "mature" since the sex described isn't raunchy or overly described. i subscribe to the _less is more_ approach in stories where the sex isn't the main focus. here, it isn't.


End file.
